Blakeford stepped through the shattered glass doors of the devastated building, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene as sirens blared in the distance. The stench of gunpowder and blood filled the air, mingling with the frantic cries and the eerie silence of those still alive. His heart raced, but his face remained stoic—this was what he did, his job was to remain unshaken. Amidst the wreckage, he noticed her. A woman lay on the floor, her body trembling uncontrollably, her wide eyes darting between the carnage and the men in uniforms moving swiftly to secure the area. She was covered in dirt and dust, her clothes torn, the fear in her eyes cutting through the noise. Blakeford knelt beside her, his voice steady, yet soft, a rare vulnerability slipping through his usual resolve. "You're safe now," he said, offering a hand to help, but she recoiled slightly, her terror too raw to allow the comfort he extended. Her eyes, full of fear, locked onto his, a brief connection that felt fragile, yet intense in the madness surrounding them. She didn't respond, her shaking hands clutching her chest, as if the world had shattered around her, and she didn’t know where to find the pieces.